Scarecrow Stories: The Hedge-Boar Cavalier
The freehold must be protected at any cost, regardless of threat. The goblins had been warning of The Beast’s warpath towards the freehold for months, but only one man took them seriously: a grizzled veteran who had the wisdom of one who had spent time as both predator and prey. Knowing it was the last line of defense between the Thorns and the freehold, the soldier made his stand at the emerald fortress. The staggering citadel had survived attacks from all manner of beasts and brutes, and never in all its days had a better leader commanded its forces. As the archers drew their bows, the soldier waited on bated breath behind the gates. A messenger from within the city soon came to his side, telling him the scouts he sent were late in checking in. Then, the sound of arrows flying heralded the lookouts from the castle’s towers spotting The Beast. Climbing to the balcony, the soldier caught his first look of the monster coming his way. It was fifteen feet tall when on all fours, its body easily 40 feet long. Covered in thick black fur, its skin was the color of ash and its bloodshot eyes had the look of a feral beast. Jutting in front of it’s pigs snout were a pair of five-foot long bull-horns coated in blood. It breathed brimstone as it ran, and it trampled trees and Thorns alike with its legs. Innumerable swords, spears, and arrows jutted out of its back and stomach, but The Beast did not seem slowed by them. The soldier knew the archers would be useless, so after the first rain of arrows failed to even phaze the monster headed their way, he called them off and told them to find shelter deeper in the castle. Having the castle gates close behind him, the soldier knew it was his place to take down The Beast alone. At first The Beast ignored him, slamming its massive body into the emerald walls of the city, making them visibly spiderweb with cracks. The soldier used every ounce of strength in his body to grab one of The Beast’s front legs and drag it to the ground, tripping the monster as the cracks in the wall worsened. The creature of pure rage swung its horns towards its aggressor, smashing him into the city gates, making them and him buckle from the force. The soldier could hear the hinges of the city entrance bending and breaking; he needed to get this monster away from the innocents inside. Unfortunately he was not in control of this fight. The Beast lumbered to its feet and prepared to charge. The soldier drew his saber after pushing himself out of the man-sized dent in the gate he was stuck in. He thought he was prepared for the worst, but The Beast gored him through the stomach with its massive horns, smashing him with the full force of its run into the walls of the city. The cracks had spread too far. Trying to pull himself off of the horns proved futile; they had sunken into the walls behind him and there was nowhere for him to go. As The Beast struggled to pull itself free, the soldier yelled to retreat, hoping someone inside the citadel could hear him. Giving up on releasing himself from the monster’s horn, he pulled himself further and further onto them, until he was in range to use his blade on the Beast’s right eye. Not knowing if The Beast could regenerate from wounds, the bleeding soldier left the blade in to ensure the blindness in that eye would last a bit longer. As rubble fell from the crumbling fortress, a large emerald brick fell on The Beast’s horn, breaking it off of its body. Pulling it out of his stomach, the soldier mused that at least it hurt less than being gored in the first place. Hoping the fall of the citadel would spur The Beast to leave the city alone, the soldier ran for the woods past the poppy fields in the castle’s shadow. Sadly, The Beast did not follow, continuing its assault on the emerald fortress. Swearing to never let up until the creature had fallen, the soldier began to tap into the same raw power the monster before him had. Giving himself up to Wrath, the fires of rage surrounded his body, healing and cauterizing his wounds as a burning crown formed on his head. Channelling some of the fire into the Thorns around him, flaming vines reached out across the poppies, lashing The Beast to the ground. Charging the prone creature, the soldier pulled itself onto its back. No weapon could damage the monster, they say. The arsenal of weaponry stabbed into its back was proof enough. However, the soldier’s Wrath needed no weapon, wanted no weapon. It wanted to teach The Beast pain. It wanted to break The Beast. Grabbing ahold of the flaming vines it now controlled, the Wrath ripped them from their roots and wrapped them around the neck of The Beast, making sure each Thorn pierced flesh. Jerking the monster away from the collapsing city, the Wrath spurred the creature to move. As the creature’s skin began to burn from the flaming whips, the Wrath aimed the monster’s charge toward a nearby mountain. Thorns still in its hands, the Wrath leapt from the creature and onto the rocks above. In a single feat of strength, the Wrath pulled the Thorns taut, slinging the monster over Wrath’s shoulder and slamming it into the mountain’s jagged spire. The force and weight of the creature split the mountain with its might. The Beast cried out in pain, tears streaming from its eyes as the once beautiful landscape was leveled beneath each repetitive slam. Wrath, on the other hand, was only burning brighter. Lifting The Beast with its bare hands, the Wrath carried the broken monster to a nearby pool of water. Tossing it in, the Wrath held the creature down as it slowly drowned, the brimstone from its dying breaths turning the lake an ashy grey. As the Wrath quelled, the newly christened Hedge-Boar Cavalier drew his sword from the fallen Beast, keeping its eye as proof of his victory. Category:Fiction